Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 24

  He saw the fight on her face. The desire to go to the library…and the desire to not be near him. Caleb swallowed the strange lump in his throat. It hurt that she found him so repulsive. He wasn’t used to that kind of reaction. Fear, awe, lust…yes. After all, he had been the left hand of Corin and had carried the Tala looks with ease. What a monster he must have been.

  “Yes,” she finally answered.

  “Good.” The word came out like a sigh. “I will come find you after I have broken fast with Lady Meira.”

  Nierne nodded and headed into the kitchen, limping as she went. Caleb stood there for a moment, watching her. He could feel his resolve hardening inside his chest. He wanted Nierne to see that he had changed. That he was a different man. He wanted to be a different man.

  But it would take more than words.

  • • •

  Nierne stood beside the window inside the library. White wispy clouds spread out across a pale blue sky. Clumps of dried grass and scrub brush grew along the hills, save for a single cypress tree that stood on a hill just beyond the short stone wall. Behind her, the soft rustle of parchment filled the room.

  Nierne turned. Caleb Tala sat at the long table in the middle of the library. His arms were propped on either side of a thick book on the table. A lock of dark hair hung down across his forehead, and his dark, almost black eyes darted back and forth as he read. His skin was the color of tea with a splash of milk. His black tunic was open at the chest, revealing strong, sinewy muscles. Everything about him spoke of power, except for his hands, which were long and lean, almost beautiful. Two scrolls and a book bound in dark leather sat beside him. The rest of the table was clear.

  As if sensing her perusal, Caleb looked up. His gaze came to rest on Nierne. Nierne stiffened. She turned her attention toward the table’s surface and studied the wood grain.

  “I asked you here this morning for your help,” Caleb said. Nierne let out her breath and looked up. “Since you are a scribe, and you probably read a lot, I thought you would know more about these books than I would.” He motioned toward the shelves and the table with his hands. “I came here, to Lady Meira’s library, to learn more about…” Caleb paused. He let his hands fall back onto the table. “Well, the Word.”

  “The Word?” Nierne said before she could stop herself. “You want to find out about the Word?” She clamped her mouth shut. He couldn’t have surprised her more than if he had just proposed bonding with her.

  A pained expression spread across Caleb’s face. He looked as if she had just slapped him. “Yes,” he said, a layer of harshness now to his voice. “Does it surprise you that a man like me could have an interest in the Word?”

  “Yes,” Nierne said bluntly. Then she looked away, mortified that she had just said that out loud.

  The silence filled the library. She could feel him looking at her, but she lacked the courage to look back. Her prejudices against Caleb were still strong, despite his kindness to her both last night and this morning.

  Nierne sighed and turned back. Caleb sat rigidly in the chair, his arms folded, a cold expression on his face. “Caleb,” she said, “I’m- I’m sorry. You’ve been…very kind to me. I will help you in any way I can.”

  That seemed to thaw him out. His shoulders relaxed, and his face lost that cold look from moments before. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  Her gaze crept toward his. “Why do you want to know about the Word?”

  He looked at her again with those dark eyes. “I’ve…taken an interest in the Word and those who follow Him.” He let his breath out. “But I don’t know where to begin. I started reading this…” He placed a hand on the large book and showed her the cover. “But maybe you could help me know more. I believe your order follows the Word, do they not?”

  Nierne glanced down at the book. Her eyes widened with recognition. “The Book of Beginnings?”

  “You know this book?”

  Nierne looked back up. “Yes. I have copied parts of it. It is a good place to begin learning about the Word.”

  Caleb pulled the tome gently to himself. He fingered the symbol embossed across the leather cover and opened the book again. “I started reading this book this morning, but maybe you can tell me more. I know very little.”

  What a task. Where should she start? “Well.” Nierne sat down in the chair across from Caleb. “We call Him the Word since He speaks and because His words hold everything together. If He were ever to stop speaking, everything would cease to exist.”

  “He is very powerful, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if He holds everything together, then He has always been here, or at least before everything else.”

  Nierne raised one eyebrow. “Yes.” Caleb seemed to have a quick mind.

  He smiled. “I read all about that this morning. I also read about the Great Battle, where the Word Himself came to the Lands. It says that is where He received His first scar.”

  “Yes.”

  “But then He left, leaving behind His servants, the Eldarans.”

  Nierne nodded slowly. Despite his claim to the contrary, Caleb seemed to already know quite a bit. “Only a few of them stayed. It was their choice. They chose to stay and protect the people of the Lands. They still had power, the power the Word had given them, but it diminished when they became mortal.”

  “You mean these Eldarans were originally immortal?”

  “Yes, in the beginning. But the few who stayed in the Lands lost their immortality. Their bodies could heal quickly, but they were now susceptible to death. And eventually, they died.”

  “Are there any left?”

  Nierne looked at the table. Should she tell him about Rowen? “Well, there are records of Eldarans over the ages. So the line never really died out. But when their blood mixed with humans, their power faded even more.”

  “But if there was one alive today, he or she would have some power?”

  Nierne looked up. Why did Caleb care so much about the Eldarans? She didn’t trust him enough to say she had found one true Eldaran. The existence of Rowen would remain Nierne’s secret. “Very little, some say.”

  Caleb tapped the book with one finger. “So what kind of power did these Eldarans wield?”

  Now she understood: Caleb was interested only in power. She should have known. Good thing she hadn’t mentioned Rowen. “Well, there was the Truthsayer. The Truthsayer was said to have the power to see inside the soul and reveal what lay within.”

  Caleb’s eyes went wide. For one wicked second Nierne wondered what Caleb would think if he saw what he truly was inside himself.

  And are you any better?

  Ouch. “And then there were the Oathmakers,” Nierne said, moving on. “They had the power to bind people to their promises. Usually they brokered peace agreements during war.”

  “And what about the Guardians?”

  How could he possibly know about those Eldarans? “The…Guardians?”

  Caleb looked down at the book. “The ones called Sons or Daughters of Truth.”

  “I don’t really know much about them. Their role was different than the Truthsayer or Oathmaker. They protected mankind. That is all I know. There was a father from my order who studied the Eldarans. But, well…” Nierne looked away. “He is dead now.”

  “I see.” Caleb stared at the Book of Beginnings with a frown. “Well, would you mind finding for me more books and scrolls about the Word?” He looked up. “You might know which of Lady Meira’s books would be helpful.”

  Nierne slowly nodded and stood. Caleb turned his gaze back to the book before him. She headed toward the nearest bookshelf. Behind her, she heard the whisper of pages turning. She looked over her shoulder. Caleb’s head was bent over the book, his mouth moving wordlessly. She turned around and moved along the shelves. Nierne passed two rows, then finally stopped. She had not read a single spine. And she knew why.

  She glanced back again. Caleb was still bent over the book. Nierne star
ed at him subtly at first, then boldly when she realized he was so intent on reading that he hadn’t noticed her gaze. Could she be wrong? Maybe it wasn’t about power. Maybe he really was searching for information on the Word.

  Nierne shook her head. Caleb was unlike any other man she had ever met. Not that she had met many men during her years in the Monastery. The only men she had known had been the fathers and other scribes like her. She could not reconcile the man she had met months ago in that tent—the man who had taken her hostage, who had threatened her—with the man now sitting at the table reading about the Word.

  And why the Word? Could it be possible Caleb was interested in becoming a Follower?

  No. Nierne turned back to the shelves. Definitely no. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and neither did a Temanin. There was something else going on. Something had happened to Caleb since they had first met, but it had to have treachery as its ultimate purpose. A man like him didn’t change.

  He said he would get her home. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She had a feeling he would. At least in that regard she believed him. But what would she do back in Thyra? Did it even still exist? Or was the city desolate now, with only shadows and echoes? How far had the Shadonae spread their power? To the borders of Kerre? To the marshlands? Had they crossed the Great Desert? Should she tell Caleb about the Shadonae? That there was nothing in Thyra to go back to? Would it make a difference?

  Knots churned inside her stomach. What good would it be to return home if there was no home to return to?

  22

  The desert sun sank behind Lore, painting the sky with brilliant orange, red and deep purple streaks. A scattering of clouds like thin wisps hung to the north just above a group of sandy hills. The air was still and hot and smelled like nothing. Bland, like much of the land of Temanin.

  Lore wiped his face with a limp rag he had grabbed from his pack. This was probably what it felt like to be a side of venison roasting in the oven. He smiled at the thought, and his lip cracked. Lore sighed and dabbed his upper lip with the rag. His stomach rumbled at the thought of meat. He patted it with his other hand. Hopefully he didn’t have much farther to go.

  He dampened the rag with his waterskin and wiped his face one more time, then continued his slow trudge eastward. His pack grew heavy as the shadows lengthened. Sweat trickled down his face and back. A couple of days’ worth of stubble covered his jaw. His tongue filled his mouth like a thick cloth.

  On his first day in Temanin, he had discovered that his sea blood reacted strongly to the dry climate. Within hours after landing, he’d felt as though every bit of moisture had been leeched from his body. His lips had cracked and bled, and his hands had felt like old parchment. Even the light-colored linen clothes and the long linen scarf wrapped around his head and face did little to protect him from the sun or its scorching heat.

  Lore had found a small village that first evening and had stopped for water. No one had noticed his strange eyes when he quietly asked to refill his waterskin at the well. No one had asked him any questions either. So far, he’d found the Temanin people polite but aloof. After filling his waterskin, Lore had left the village to make camp out in the desert for the night.

  Today, Lore had met only a small caravan making its way east. He’d passed them without a word and had continued his trek westward.

  The sun had finally disappeared ahead of him when he spotted an enclosed wall as high as two men at the foot of a hill, with a cluster of buildings jutting just above it. Lore stopped and pulled out his map. He held it close to his face and squinted. In the dying light, he could scarcely make out the symbols. But he knew this was it. The estate ahead was Farien Selk’s. He had made it.

  Lore rolled the map back up and stowed it in his pack. With the sun gone, the world was growing rapidly dark. He readjusted his pack and set out for the wall, all the while wondering how Farien would react to his arrival. Would Farien agree to help him? Or would he turn on him? Or maybe Lore wouldn’t even have a chance to meet Farien. Maybe he would be turned away at the gate. Or worse.

  Lore closed his eyes. Word, direct my steps and give me the words to speak.

  He approached the wall and followed it around the estate. Bright stars filled the sky, but the moon had not yet risen. Lore placed a hand on the wall. Rough texture met his fingertips. He listened for any movement, but the only sound was the quiet crunch of his boots on the hard, cracked earth. He made his way around the estate until a minute later he made out a door within the wall.

  A light appeared at the end of the wall. Two men came around the corner. “Halt!”

  The taller man approached Lore, a torch in his hand. His face looked angular in the torchlight: clean-shaven, with a round nose, deep dark eyes, and thick black hair. Lore fought the desire to reach for his sword. Instead, he held up his hands in what he hoped looked like a peaceful gesture.

  The other man approached him from his left. He was short, and his eyes looked like they were in a permanent squint. “Move along, stranger. Our master does not allow travelers to loiter on his land.”

  Lore kept his hands in the air. “Is this the estate of Farien Selk?”

  The tall man in front of him gave a small growl. “Who asks?”

  “I am looking for an audience with your master.”

  “No one meets with Master Selk without his permission first. And I was not informed of your visit.”

  “Wait. There must b—”

  The tall man pulled his sword and stepped forward. “You will leave. Now.”

  Lore took a step back. “Tell him I come in the name of Stephen Argus.”

  “That name means nothing. Begone!”

  “Wait, Carvas.” The shorter man to Lore’s left moved toward Carvas and talked quietly. Lore waited.

  “I see,” Carvas said a moment later. “You will wait here. I will tell my master the name you come in.”

  Lore dipped his head in acknowledgement. Carvas handed the torch to the other man and disappeared inside the doorway. The other man took up his position on Lore’s left again, his sword drawn.

  Please, let this work. Lore knew he could try other ways to find Rowen, but Farien was his best plan. Farien would have contacts, and Lore had none in this foreign country. Without Farien, it could take months to locate Rowen, if he wasn’t captured first. And who knew what could happen to her in that time, or if anything had happened to her already?

  Minutes ticked by. An unseen insect began to shrill nearby. Lore stood as still as possible and watched the man to his left out of the corner of his eye. More stars popped across the black sky.

  The door opened, and Carvas came back out. “Farien said he would see you. But first, we need to take your weapons.”

  Lore nodded. He would expect nothing less from the men who guarded Farien. Lore dropped his pack and unbelted his sword. The other man came forward and grabbed it. Carvas searched the bag, then patted down Lore. He found the pouch hidden inside Lore’s tunic and started to pull it out.

  Lore grabbed his hand. The other man held out his sword and pointed it at Lore. Lore looked at Carvas. “That is not a weapon or poison. It is my money pouch.”

  Carvas felt the pouch with his hand. “I will need to check that for myself.” He opened the pouch and poured some of the gems and money into his hand.

  Lore waited, his body tense. If either man decided they would rather have the money for themselves, he was ready to fight, even without his sword.

  Instead, Carvas placed the few gems and coins back into the pouch and let it drop back onto Lore’s chest. Carvas then finished checking his sides and boots for any hidden daggers. “All right. One more precaution.” Carvas took a step back. “Farien said he wants your hands bound until he knows you are really from Stephen.”

  Lore gritted his teeth but nodded. He brought his hands back. Carvas pulled out a thin piece of rope. He stepped behind Lore. Lore’s hands were jerked back and the rope wound around his wrists. Carvas knew what
he was doing. Lore could still feel his hands, but the rope was tight enough that there was no way he could get them free.

  Carvas came back around and took the torch. “Good. Now, follow me.” He headed toward the door. Lore followed. The other man went behind him. Well, at least he was heading inside, instead of having the door shut in his face.

  Carvas led Lore through the doorway. Inside the wall were the buildings Lore had seen when he’d peeked over the wall. There looked to be seven in all, four of them two stories high. To his right were two tall buildings with small square windows that lined both floors. Soft light shone out of the windows, and torches flickered from brackets hung beside the doorways.

  To his left were the stables and a small open building like a blacksmith. Past the stables was a pen with a couple of sheep crowded in one corner. The scent of fresh hay and animal dung hung in the air. Tufts of tall grass grew up beside the fence and buildings, but the rest of the ground was clear and flat.

  Carvas led Lore past the dwellings, stables, and animals toward the large, much nicer two story building in the back of the compound. Curved windows were carved into the whitewashed staccato walls, each one lit from the inside. Two columns held up a tiled roof that overshadowed five wide stone steps that stood in front of the main door. A torch hung to one side, lighting the entrance.

  Carvas led the way up the stairs and opened the door. Light spilled across the portico. Carvas headed inside. Lore followed. A large entrance hall greeted his eyes. Tapestries hung from the high ceiling on either side of the hall, each covered in bright colors and geometric patterns. Thick, green rugs lay across the stone floor. Candles burned in an overhead chandelier, lighting up the area. Three hallways emerged from the main room: to the right, the left, and straight ahead. Carvas turned left, and Lore followed.

  Long, narrow rugs lay on the floor, muffling the sound of the men’s boots. Golden sconces held long thin candles every couple of feet. After they passed a door on the left, a faint spicy scent filled the air. Lore sniffed again. It was bitter and sweet at the same time, like nothing he had ever smelled before.